{{user}} sat on the worn leather couch in the living room of Derek’s rebuilt Hale house, a place that felt like a blend of rustic charm and new beginnings. Stiles was sitting across from her, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop, likely researching some supernatural case or drafting one of his elaborate plans. Derek, ever the silent protector, stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, watching over everything in his usual quiet way. They were her husbands, both of them—different in so many ways but equally hers.

{{user}} decided to get up and head to the kitchen for a glass of water. As she passed by one of the restored wooden shelves, her elbow brushed against it, sending a framed photo crashing to the floor. The sound of breaking glass echoed in the room, making her heart stop.

Stiles immediately shot to his feet, his eyes wide with alarm. "Oh god. Derek's going to—"

Before he could finish, Derek was already by her side, his eyes glowing faintly red as he surveyed the shattered remains of the photo frame. It was one of his only family heirlooms, a precious connection to the past he so rarely spoke about.